The Aftermath
by italianrory
Summary: Set in 3x24, after the Nogitzsune is defeated and Aiden is killed. Lydia's POV of that night as Stiles drives her back home. "She could feel Stiles glancing over at her worriedly from time to time as he was driving, but she appreciated his silence and slightly out of character respect of boundaries. Maybe he was trying to forget everything that had happened as well."


The street lights passed swiftly, reflected on the windshield, as Stiles silently drove towards Lydia's house. She looked out the window, staring at the trees, which were mostly dark figures in the night, trying to keep her mind completely blank. That's what she'd been doing for days now. After Alison.. after that night when she tried to cry herself to sleep but she couldn't even manage to do that, because that pit in her stomach kept her awake with the image of her lifeless best friend, and she woke up the next morning with her cheeks covered in dry black mascara, she cleaned herself up, put on new clothes, new make-up, new face and hardly had the time to do anything else before she was once again catapulted in a battle for her and her friends' life. For Stiles' life. For Aiden's life.. she closed her eyes and she thought tears would come streaming down her face once again but maybe there were no more tears to be cried. Maybe the pain was so unbearable that her body had just completely shut down. Her feelings had completely shut down. She kept seeing these last couple of days like a movie playing in the back of her mind, a very tragic movie that she just wanted to be over soon, but as much as she tried to stop it, it never did.

She could feel Stiles glancing over at her worriedly from time to time as he was driving, but she appreciated his silence and slightly out of character respect of boundaries. Maybe he was trying to forget everything that had happened as well. Maybe he just didn't have the energy to talk. Quite frankly, after everything that happened, she wondered how he had the energy to drive, and part of her couldn't believe she'd let him, but she guessed her general numbness was probably starting to affect her good sense as well.

She instinctively jumped in terror when she felt a slight touch on her arm, as she turned to Stiles with a surprised and somewhat typical Lydia Martin annoyed look. Taken aback by her sudden reaction, he shrugged ever so slightly and mumbled an "I'm sorry, it's just.. we're here", pointing his finger outside her window. She turned to see her house and wondered how the hell they got there. It didn't really matter though. Nothing really mattered. She automatically got out of the car when Stiles opened the door, and what was left of her rational self was internally screaming at her with guilt for letting Stiles do all these things for her when he should be lying on a bed – preferably a hospital one – being watched over and cared for. They quietly sneaked into her house, and before she knew it they were in her room. She sat on her bed and closed her eyes while taking a deep breath, and only when she opened them back up she noticed Stiles was still there, leaning against the door jamb and pretending that standing on his own two feet wasn't a crushing effort. "I'm so sorry" she whispered, shifting her eyes from him to a random spot in front of her, "what? for what?" Stiles asked frowning, that tone of annoyed sarcasm still present in his voice, even now, which for a very brief moment gave Lydia a much needed sense of normalcy. She shook the off quite fast, as she mumbled, keeping her eyes still fixated on an unspecified point over her desk.

"You.. you didn't have to follow me to my room" "I wanted to make sure you got in okay". A smile formed on Lydia's lips before she could stop it, and slowly dissolved as her mind brought her back to reality. She turned to him and without saying anything patted the spot on her bed beside her for Stiles to go sit there, which he did without saying a word.

They sat there in silence for what could've been one or a thousand seconds, both looking at their feet, or hands, or random corners of her room, as their minds tried not to think of anything. As Lydia tilted her head down and closed her eyes as one single tear started falling on her cheek, Stiles turned to her with those hazel eyes full of worry and affection; she could see he wanted to comfort her but didn't dare to. As she turned to look back at him, Lydia felt the words escape her lips "you love me, don't you".

It wasn't really a question, it was more of a sudden realization. Obviously, she knew of his childish crush on her, she'd known for years, even before supernatural events forced her to spend time with him and actually get to know him, she saw him. That hyperactive, socially awkward kid who would jump and stare at her every time she passed him in the hallway, ever since the third grade. She caught him looking at her during classes instead of doing his assignment, and she heard him greet her when she walked by, even if she ignored him. She saw him. But only after she actually got to know him, did she really look at him. She thought he was just one of those guys, drooling over the popular girl, fantasizing about this mystical creature they made her out to be. But she was just filling a role, a stereotype society led the young crowd to believe existed. Not Stiles. All this time, she thought he was just seeing her, and only now was she realizing, he actually looked at her. He knew how smart she was before she let herself admit it to anyone, he had the guts to tell her off when she needed to be, and even to tell her when she was wrong, or, well, when he wrongly thought she was. And now he'd insisted on driving her home, walking her all the way up to her room when he was clearly exhausted and had just almost died, repeatedly. He loved her.

He stared at her speechless for a moment until his eyes moved down, unable to hold her glance, as he nodded ever so slightly, so much that Lydia actually wondered if he did at all. He looked back up at her as she threw her arms around his shoulder, feeling her tears fall down her cheeks, onto his plaid shirt. He hugged her back a little unsurely at first, then more firmly, and he hid his face in the crook of her neck, pushing back his own tears, as she whispered, "thank you".


End file.
